When I pulled onto Marta’s street, I spotted five-year-old Maria standing in the porchlight’s glow. She was wearing a white, flower print sundress, her hair braided into two long ponytails, and she held the doll I bout her last week. She bounced from one foot to the other with a huge smile on her adorable little face. She should not have been outside—not by herself, at least. How could she not be afraid? Especially after what she had been subjected to at the hands of pedophile blood magick users. Hell, I could barely get through an hour-long sermon without my past pain rearing its ugly little head, and here she was bouncing around with a smile on her face.
The employees at the Sinclair at-risk youth facility had sexually abused her and her siblings. And while the Sinclair family tried to pretend they were not a threat, going as far as to try and convince Marta they were on her side and troubled by the events that took place in their facility. I didn’t buy their P.R. crafted bullshit for a minute. Especially since we had taken Marta’s kids from the house before the authorities arrived.
Given that, there was no way they could have known the Martinez kids had been at their facility in the first place, which meant they were involved in what had gone on. Might have even taken part in its sickness.
I slowed my car down, still watching her, and pulled up to the house.
I glanced across the street and noticed Mr. Magee sitting on the porch. I knew he had a rifle by his side. He’d shown it to us this week; said he would not let anyone touch Marta and her family again. I appreciated it. While I didn’t blame him for not stepping in when he noticed something nefarious going on weeks ago, I did hold a little anger inside of me that Marta and the kids could be kidnapped right under his watchful eye.
He was, however, making up for that oversight now by keeping a constant vigil on Marta’s home. And that had to count for something.
I pulled into the driveway and parked next to Kara’s Toyota. Before I could get out of the car, Maria ran toward me, dragging her doll along with her.
“Hi, sweet girl,” I said, wiping the concern from my face. She didn’t need to see that.
“Hi, Aunt Cole!” I braced myself as she launched into my arms.
I pulled her in close and snuggled her neck, inhaling her strawberry scent and taking solace in the fact that she was safe. Still holding Maria, I turned and waved at Joe. He dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“What are you doing outside?” I asked her.
She leaned back and stared at me out of solemn hazel eyes.
I’d never seen her look like that before, and it concerned me. “What’s wrong, sweet girl?”
“I can see you sometimes, Aunt Cole.” She leaned in and whispered, “When I’m dreaming.”
“What am I doing in your dreams?” I asked, rubbing her back. She was the first one I saw when we entered the basement at the Sinclair family at-risk home. Locked in a cage, she had been naked, covered in grime and blood. I seriously hoped she wasn’t reliving that nightmare in her dreams.
The door banged open, and Marta came running out. “Oh, thank god!” She snatched Maria from me and squeezed her so hard, I was afraid she was going to break the little girl.
I placed my hand on Marta’s arm, and she blinked at me. It was as if she’d just registered, I was standing there. “She’s fine, Marta,” I said, my voice soft.
Marta continued to stare at me, tears welling up in her eyes. I glanced over at the porch as Kara stepped outside, holding Juan’s hand. José stood next to them with a bat clutched in his hands. His gaze roamed over the neighborhood—searching for threats. He was too young to be worrying about danger. Too young to believe he had to protect himself and everyone around him. He should have been riding through the neighborhood on his bike with his brother and sisters playing with him. But instead, they had been exposed to a kind of evil that would always impact their lives. I was living proof of that.
Kara gave me a look filled with sorrow and helplessness, mirroring my own feelings. We didn’t know what we were doing. Despite our best efforts, none of them were getting any better. Marta and the kids needed professional help. But Marta kept refusing, kept telling us they would be fine. That their pastor was helping them.
They weren’t fine.
Isabel came out of the house and took in the scene—eyes roaming over all of us. I lifted my hand in a wave and she blinked a few times while she chewed on her lips. She’d been doing that a lot lately; like she was swallowing the pain, ignoring her need to let it all out.
“Mija, you can’t go off alone. Please,” Marta said finally. My heart seized at the anguish in her voice. She tightened her grip on Maria, making the little girl cry out.
Isabel rushed over. “Mom, it’s fine,” she wailed, her voice cracking. “Maria is okay,” Isabel said, trying to soothe her. She wrapped her arms around her mother. “We’re all okay.” Even I could hear the hollowness in her words. Isabel knew they weren’t all right.
I reached for a crying Maria. “Here, Marta, I got her.”
Marta nodded and let me take her. Isabel wiped the tears from her mother’s face. After shifting Maria to my hip, I reached in the car and grabbed my purse and the bag of cookies. Maria seized the cookies, letting her doll drop to the ground. Isabel scooped up the abandoned toy and guided her mother into the house, with us following behind.
After Marta and her kids had been taken, someone came in and cleaned out their house, trying to sell the illusion that they had moved. Even her neighbor Joe had believed it strange Marta would pack up in the middle of the night and leave, then send a moving truck later for her things. He found it even more odd that she hadn’t said goodbye. We had just rekindled our relationship after a few years of us not speaking, but even I knew that Marta wasn’t like that.
Turned out, the Sinclair family—not the Stewarts—had sent the moving van. And a week after we found Marta and the kids, another moving company delivered their belongings, along with a check from Bradley Sinclair. Everything was intact. The Sinclairs even repaired the furniture that had been broken prior to their men taking it. Marta threw all of it away, only keeping their personal mementos. As for the check, she ripped it up and mailed it back to him. I didn’t blame her. I would have done the same thing…most likely with some violence involved.
Despite the new furniture and the walls being painted, there was still an ugly stain simmering just below the surface. Its poison showed in the clothes strewn about and the dirt on the floor and counters. Marta had always taken pride in her home. She would have never let it get to this point. Yet every time we tried to help her clean it up, she would yell at us to leave it. As if she didn’t see what was going on around her. Or even worse, how the disarray was affecting her kids.
I wanted so badly to fix it. To go back in time and never step foot in Tribec Insurance. My being there, coupled with my determination to leave, were the reasons Ronald had ensnared Marta and the kids in his scheme. He needed to make sure I stayed and continued asking questions, so I could expose his family’s Harvest ritual. I wanted to dedicate myself to pursuing Ronald, but I needed to be here to make sure we took down everyone involved in blood magick. Including the Sinclair family.
They couldn’t hide behind their P.R. firm forever.
Besides, if Devlin was right, Ronald would save me the trouble of hunting him down and instead return to Tulare hoping to add me to his list of victims. And by that time, I will have mastered my magick.
After helping the kids get cleaned up for dinner, we all sat down at the table. Isabel set a plate of spaghetti in front of me. “Thank you,” I said, smiling up at her.
She wrung her hands and looked from me to the plate. “I hope it’s all right. I followed the recipe like Mom said.” She looked over at Marta, who sat staring at Juan as he colored.
“Yes, you did good, Mija,” Marta said, not looking up. Isabel’s shoulders dropped and she walked away.
One of the other troubling changes we’d noticed about Marta was that she had stopped cooking for her children. Like her mother before her, she took pride in cooking for her family—always made big, elaborate meals, including desert. Before we’d had a falling out a few years ago, she would invite us to dinner often. I think I gained five pounds at every meal she fed us.
But now, Isabel was cooking, using her mother’s recipes to fix food for the family. Sad thing was, Marta never helped her; never gave her guidance—just sat in this catatonic state at the dinner table, staring at her children. And barely eating herself.
Kara started to get up. I raised my hand to stop her. “I’ll go,” I whispered and followed
Marta’s eldest into the kitchen. “Isabel?” She scooped spaghetti on another plate. “You want to talk?”
“No, Aunt Nicole. I must feed everyone and then make sure Maria and Juan bathe. And then…” Her voice caught, and she dropped the plate on the counter. “I don’t know.”
I pulled her to me. Her small body shook as she cried on my shoulder. “It’s okay, baby,” I said, rubbing her back.
“I can’t fix it, Aunt Nicole. No matter how hard I try. Mommy doesn’t help me. She doesn’t see how much we need her.”
“She does.”
She stepped away from me and swiped a hand across her cheek. “We prayed. Like Daddy taught us when we…when we were locked in that basement. We just kept praying and…”
I took her face in my hands. Let her see the strength I couldn’t give myself, but I damn sure was going to give her and said, “You’re safe now. Understand?” She nodded. “There is no way I’m going to allow anyone to hurt you all again.” Even if it destroyed me, put me in danger, I would fight to my very last breath, making damn sure I kept that promise.
She closed her eyes. “Mommy was hurt, too. I heard her tell Ms. Lena.” Mr. Magee’s daughter Lena had started coming over when Kara or I could not be there. We appreciated the help and, in case something should happen, there was someone close enough to intervene.
I hugged her again. She should not have heard that. No wonder she was trying to do everything. She believed Marta couldn’t.
She jerked away and walked over to the kitchen drawer. After glancing out toward the living room, she opened the drawer and took a card out. “Ms. Lena gave me this.” She handed it to me.
Reid Family Counseling Services was etched across the front.
Even Lena Magee knew Marta needed help but was either shut down when she tried to offer some or too afraid to approach her in the first place. Most likely, Marta shut her down. “I will talk to her about it, okay?”
Isabel gave me a half smile. Relief shone like a bright light all over her face. “Thank you,” she said, and then turned and finished dishing up spaghetti.
After dinner, I helped Isabel give Maria and Juan their baths. While Maria bounced around with enough energy to power a small city, Juan went about getting ready for bed as if he were being forced to do so. He didn’t complain. He just remained silent and did as he was told. I didn’t know which one of them worried me the most: Maria, obviously blocking the memory of what happened to her, or Juan, reliving it in everything he did—including his drawings. And José, he didn’t put his bat down once. He was always checking outside, keeping a watch over his family while Marta ghosted around, seeming lost.
When Isabel went upstairs to take a bath, I did the dishes and straightened the kitchen. Kara helped José get ready, then went outside. After a short while, I went outside and joined her.
She stood on the porch, staring out at the darkened street, seemingly deep in thought. “We have to help them,” she said, not turning around.
I pulled the card from my back pocket and handed it to her. “Isabel gave this to me.”
She took the card and studied it. “Lena mentioned talking to Marta about counseling for the family.” She handed it back to me. “But you know Marta. She believes her pastor can help them.”
I snorted and took a seat on the porch swing. “Well, he’s not doing a good job.”
I didn’t believe for a second that their pastor could help. I was willing to admit my own mistrust in religion and its practices could be coloring my views, but I was also tired of my friend and her kids suffering. Something had to give.
“Give them time, Nicole.” She sat next to me and kicked off, setting the swing in motion.
My head fell back. The squeaking filled the silence between us, mixing in with the light from the firebugs dancing around the bushes in front of the wooden handrail. A comfortable warmth settled over my skin.
“I ran into Hathor today,” I said, closing my eyes.
“It’s a little scary how casually you said that.” I could feel her eyes on me.
I lifted my head and looked over at her. “You’re right; I should be freaking out.” I laid my head back again. “Truth is, I haven’t decided how I should feel. My encounter with her was a little…strange. She kept talking about the desert and restoring power. She implied it took heat to do so. Maybe her efforts are affecting the weather.”
“How can restoring power change the weather?” Kara asked. “Elemental magick, maybe?”
“She’s a god. We really don’t know how their power works or what they’re capable of.” I chuckled. “She also told me to take a quiz in a self-help magazine to find my purpose.”
Kara laughed. “Your purpose?” She turned to me. “When she…” She looked down at my chest and cleared her throat. “Healed you. She kept rambling on about the sun. And your mom had to practically dress her when she refused to put clothes on.” Kara laid her hand on my arm. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in what she said. Ezra said she’s been a little out of touch for a while. And I got the same impression.”
I nodded, mostly to reassure her because out of touch or not, I had the distinct impression she was trying to help me.
The screen door opened, and Marta stepped out onto the porch. “They are finally asleep,” she said. We made room for her on the swing, and she sat down between us, a white envelope clutched in her hand. “This came yesterday.” She handed it to me.
Scrawled across the front was Marta’s name along with the kids. Bradley Sinclair had sent another check with a yellow post-it note attached to the front.
In case you lost the last one.
Bradley Sinclair, the twisted bastard, knew if Marta cashed the check, she would confirm her children had been at their facility. His checks were a sick form of harassment.
I stared down at the crumpled envelope in my hand. Soon, Bradley. Real soon, I will put a bullet in your head.
“Devlin offered me a job,” Marta said after a short while. “I think I might take it.”
I turned to her. “I thought you were going to work for my father.”
“I think I’d feel too lost trying to work at an apothecary shop.”
“Are you sure you want to go back to work so soon?” Kara asked.
Marta looked off down the street. “Yes.” Even I could hear the hesitation in her voice.
“You are aware of the type of work they do,” I said. “Marta? Are you sure this is something you want to get involved in?”
She leaned back. “Before we moved to Tulare, my dad had his own P.I. firm.” She tapped her fingers on her thigh and bit her bottom lip. “My mom hated what he did. She said he put himself in danger too much. So, when we moved to Tulare, he sold his business and started working as a janitor at the elementary school.” She glanced at me. “He told me some years ago that he would have quit sooner if she had stopped nagging him.”
Kara and I laughed. That was one of the many things Marta’s mom was good at: nagging. We loved to listen to her parents argue. Of course, it would always end in a big meal and them sneaking off to “talk”, while we watched Columbo.
Marta smiled. “I miss my parents. They would have been a godsend right now.” I placed my hand over hers. They had died in a car crash a year after she got married. “My mother never knew my dad would share his stories with me. I found the work fascinating and told him when I got older, I would open my own firm so he could do what he loved so much again. He liked the idea. Even believed we could work together.” She shook her head and frowned. “When I told Manuel what I wanted to do for a living, he laughed and said a woman’s place is raising a family.” Marta chewed her lip again. This had to be where Isabel had gotten that nervous habit from.
I placed my hand on hers. After a brief pause, she continued, “I miss him. And I hate him. He cheated on me constantly. But I stayed. Raising my family. When he died, leaving me with four kids and little money, I hated myself for not leaving a long time ago.”
We often wondered why Marta stayed with Manuel. He had hit on both Kara and I and when we tried to tell Marta about it, she’d stopped talking to us for a few years. I wished we had known she was suffering.
“Working for Devlin will help me take care of my kids. I may not be the best investigator, but at least, in a way, I can fulfill my promise to my father.” She shrugged. “Who knows? I might be good at it.” Her face darkened. “It will also get me that much closer to the monsters who hurt my babies.”
“Marta,” I said. “When the time comes, we’ll take care of the Sinclair family.” I didn’t want her to get her hands dirty.
“No, Nicole. When the time comes, I will take care of the Sinclair family.” She looked at me, her eyes hard. “You will let me have my revenge.”
How could I broach the subject of counseling after her declaration of retribution? Kara and I shared a look, both of us knowing this wasn’t the time. Even so, I pulled the card from my pocket. Maybe if I gave it to her, she would think about it. Rubbing the smooth surface of the card, I leaned back and contemplated my options. Who was I to encourage someone to seek therapy when I wouldn’t do it myself? Hell, I was getting advice out of magazines.
“It’s getting late,” I said finally. “Kara is staying with you tonight. I can come back later this week.”
“You and Kara have lives. I can take care of myself and the kids.” The words sounded right. Too bad her tone didn’t. She still had that quiver of uncertainty in her voice.
“I like being here with them,” Kara said. “I can help out still.”
Marta turned to her. “You’re teaching summer school, right?”
Kara turned away. “No. I told them I wasn’t available.”
This was news to me. I also believed she was teaching summer school.
“I’ve already arranged for Anne to watch them this week.”
“My mom?” The swing jostled as I shifted toward her.
Marta studied me for a minute. “You should call your parents. Don’t let anything keep you from a relationship with them.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I almost lost my babies.” She trembled, arms going around herself. “I couldn’t manage thinking I would never see my kids again.” She stared me. “Your mother…”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I cut her off. I couldn’t make this conversation about me. Besides, I wasn’t ready to deal with my own issues yet.
Marta stood up. “I should get some rest. I told Devlin I’d be there early in the morning.”
She was dismissing us. Why?
“Marta,” I said, reaching for her.
She narrowed her eyes, and for a minute, I saw hatred swimming in them. I let go of her arm and looked at Kara. The look of confusion on her face told me she, too, didn’t understand Marta’s sudden change in demeanor.
Marta sighed. “I’m sorry.” She placed her hand on her stomach as if she were trying to hold in her emotions. “This is hard. I have to do the right thing. And”—she sucked in a breath. Her eyes swam with unshed tears—“I need to heal. You two love me so much. It’s crippling me. I must be strong for them. But as long as you two continue to coddle me, I won’t try to get better.”
I extended the card to her. “Start here,” I said and got up. “You want to prove to us that you can manage, prove to the kids that you can take care of them.” I pointed at the card as she stared down at it. “Isabel gave that to me. She’s trying, Marta. She needs you to do this for her. For all of you.” I pulled her to me and wrapped my arms around her. “Please.”
Kara got up and put her arms around both of us. “Yes, Marta, please.”
Marta held on to us, silently weeping.
Finally, she nodded. I’d take that as a yes for now.